Unthinkable
by luvin-benadam
Summary: A one night stand has remarkable consequences for Sidney Crosby
1. Chapter 1

I'm shaking, my hands balled into tight fists at either of my sides, damp with sweat and fear. I want to fidget, fuss with the hem of my shirt or twist my hair nervously around my finger, but the paralyzing fear has me pinned in place. I have been working up the courage to face this moment for nearly four months and no matter what justifications I try to come up with, I just can't put this off any longer.

"Please, if you could just tell him I'm here," I beg again to the demure face of the man standing across from me. "I promise it's important."

I can see his scepticism etched into the lines of his aging face, no stranger to young girls showing up at the arena begging to meet the players. Maybe it's the tears I can feel forming in my eyes or the edge of desperation I can't keep from my tone, but his face softens and he lets out a sigh.

"What exactly do you want me to tell him, miss?" He asks, only a slight annoyance edging into his voice.

"Please just tell him that Blake Easton is here and she really needs to speak to him. I wouldn't be wasting anyone's time if this wasn't urgent," I assure.

"And when I tell Mr Crosby that Blake Easton is here to see him, he'll know who I'm talking about, won't he?"

A brief moment of panic seizes me, flashbacks of a night months ago, tangled between bed sheets, fervent kisses pressed to hot skin, a quick breakfast and aging silence. God I hope he remembers me. How embarrassing to show up with an announcement like mine to proclaim to a man who doesn't even know who you are.

I nod because I'm not sure my words are sufficient.

"Wait here miss," he sighs. "I'll go tell Sidney you're here."

"Thank you," I proclaim with relief. "Thank you so much."

I'm left standing in the empty halls of the Consol Energy Centre, eyes darting back and forth between the Penguins paraphernalia littering the walls. The curtains to the arena seats gently flutter in the air conditioning that blows from the vents above them, dancing in tantalizing waves that almost calm my hectic mind. My hands find my long blonde hair, tied into a loose braid over my shoulder to keep it off my neck from the late September heat that has hung around the city this year, twisting it around and around my finger, a nervous habit I've never given up since childhood.

I self consciously tug at the hem of my loose shirt, pulling it further down over my jean shorts and trying not to let my self esteem plummet. At four months pregnant my slim body is just starting to show the signs of the baby growing within me, stomach slightly protruding and figure filling out. With my shirt hanging loosely, it's impossible to tell but I still am at the stage where I am uncomfortable in my own skin.

"Miss Easton?"

His voice whips me from my thoughts and I swivel to meet his gaze, face full of scared promise. I note with a plummeting sense of dread that he has returned alone.

"Mr Crosby has asked me to escort you down to the locker room. Practice is about to start and he asked me to inform you that he doesn't have much time."

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.

"This way," he motions and I set off after him. "Are you alright?" He asks tentatively after a few minutes of silence and with the first sign of care he's shown since I approached his office and asked to speak with Sidney Crosby.

I swallow back the dry lump in my throat. "To be honest, I'm not too sure. Would it be alright if I asked you a question?"

He glances left to look at me, eyebrow cocked in anticipation. "I suppose that would be alright."

"When you told him I was here, did he know who I was?"

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer, preparing myself for the worst.

"Honestly, it's hard to say. Sidney Crosby is not someone who gives a lot away easily. He was silent for a minute and then asked me to bring you down."

I still, not relieved by his answer but not filled with the hot sense of embarrassment either. "Thank you for your honesty," I say.

He nods with a small smile. "Here you are Miss Easton." He point to a large set of double doors with the Penguins logo emblazoned on them. "Are you ready?"

"If I don't do this now, I never will," I say with a smile more brave than I feel.

He pushes them open and leads me inside, down a long corridor and through another set of double doors, a labyrinth of passages until at last we come to one filled with men in various states of undress.

I stop at the door, shaking so badly now that I'm sure it's visible to anyone who lays eyes on me.

"Sidney, Miss Easton for you," the gentleman says to the stoic figure to my right of a large, almost circular room.

My eyes find the face I haven't seen since in person since that night and my arms instinctively cross protectively over my abdomen. He glances up to me, eyes shadowed by the brim of his Pens hat, tshirt clinging to his sweaty body post-workout. His eyes are dark as he breathes me in, face a maddeningly blank slate that I cannot read. The gentleman turns to leave with a quick reassuring squeeze of my arm and I am left alone to deal with this mess we created.

"Hi," I manage quietly.

"Hi," he replies. "It's been awhile," he says after a beat.

I nod nervously, hoping that his statement is an admission of memory, that at least he remembers me. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

He stands and I am again surprised by his height next to my small frame. He readjusts his hat and sweeps his hair back from his face, securing the cap back onto his head and glancing down at me.

"Honestly Blake, practice is about to start and I don't have a lot of time. We'll have to make this quick."

He isn't rude about it, but I can sense his urgency to have this over and done with as soon as possible.

"I'll make it quick, but I really think we should have this discussion where we can't be overheard."

We both glance left and right to the locker room full of his team mates, some of their curious eyes drifting over to the strange girl talking to their notoriously superstitious Captain before a practice, something I imagine is not a common occurrence.

"Anything you need to say can be said in front of my team mates. Besides, none of them are paying attention."

For a man who is notoriously private, this is not a response I was expecting.

"Honestly, Sidney, it would be much better to do this alone," I assure, almost plead. I can barely bring myself to confess this secret to him alone, let alone a room full of his team mates, trainers, coaches and various staff.

"Sid, practice in 5!" A voice calls from the far corner of the room.

His eyes dart up to find the face and calls back, "Be right there!" He glances back down to me, eyes full of a sense of pressure now. "Really Blake, I'm sorry but it's now or never."

He bends to pick his jersey up from where it hangs behind him and I seize the opportunity that his eyes aren't boring into mine, sucking out all the nerve I have left in my body.

"I'm pregnant."

He stills, hands tightly clenched around the fabric of his jersey but doesn't turn to look at me. I breathe out, a sense of imminent relief washing over me at finally parting with the secret that has been weighing me down, but filled with a new sense of dread as to how he's going to react.

He turns slowly, face still shockingly blank though much whiter than he was before. His eyes are glassy with an emotion I can't quite place, body superbly still, breathing in the sight of me as his eyes roam up and down my body. If he does indeed remember me, his mind must be reeling through the math of how long it's been since the night we slept together, putting together the pieces, perhaps trying to find his way out of this mess of a situation.

"Pregnant?" He repeats, spinning the word around his mouth with a thick swallow.

I nod as much as my numb head will allow, a barely discernable movement. But his eyes, which haven't left my face, catch it and I watch as he sinks into a sitting position on his bench. His elbows find his knees and he rests his forehead in the palm of his hands, shielding his face from my view. My dread grows.

"Please say something," I beg quietly, wanting to drop down to my knees in front of him and break down with him. But based on his reaction, at least one of us needs to remain strong and god knows I have already had my breakdown over this.

"But we were together…I haven't seen you since…."

I can see the cogs turning in his mind.

"It was four months ago," I whisper. "Four months."

He stands suddenly, startling me into taking a step backwards. "I don't even know you. I don't even know if it's mine," he mutters more to himself than me.

I had expected this, had expected him to have his doubts. And rightfully so. I was a drunken one night stand that he hadn't spoken to since that night, showing up unannounced at his arena and turning his life upside down. He made millions of dollars a year and was surely a target for some crazy women desperate to trick him into fathering their child so he would support them for the rest of their lives. But I was not one of them and I was still taken aback by the force that his words hurt me with.

"Sid, practice!" The same voice cried out again.

He looked at me, face a mess of emotions for the first time since I walked in the room, anguish etched into the lines of his face.

"I'm sorry but I have to go." He turned and left, throwing his jersey over his head as he walked away from me.

"Sidney!" I cried after him and while he definitely heard me, he didn't turn back around.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, desperate to stave off the tears that were threatening to choke me. I couldn't break down, not here. I needed to hold it together. I felt a hand slowly slide onto the small of my back and the smell of a gentle cologne fill the air around me. I turned to find Pascal Dupuis waiting quietly next to me, face full of emotion.

"Forgive me, but I heard everything," I said gently.

He's dressed in his suit, still held out of games by a blood clot that won't allow him to play. "Normally I help coach," he said, taking in the sight of me noticing his outfit, "But today I think I'll sit out and talk to you."

I nod, choking back the sob that is sitting in the back of my throat, eyes thick with tears that I can't see through.

"Wait here," he says. "I'll just go tell them that I'm sitting out today."

I nod because this is all so surreal and I don't trust myself to speak. All I know are the facts. I am pregnant with Sidney Crosby's baby and he wants nothing to do with me.


	2. Chapter 2

I try and find some comfort in the warmth of the mug clenched tightly between my palms but the bitter cold of rejection still stings within my bones. I find my eyes captivated by the swirling of the cream within my tea, a gentle sway of motion among the otherwise sedentary liquid. The gentle murmur of voices around me provides the perfect backdrop to lose myself in, a hum of noise and activity that I can focus my mind on instead of reliving the horror of telling Sidney all over again. I want to glance up into the concerned face of the man across from my but my strength is dwindling and it requires so much effort to speak about this with a stranger.

"Blake?"

My head snaps up to find his tired eyes boring into my own. "Sorry," I mutter. "My head isn't here."

He nods understandingly. "He's not a bad guy, you know?"

I nod, knowing in the recesses of my mind the Pascal Dupuis is telling the truth, but all I get are flashbacks of the anguished expression on the planes of his face as he walks away from me and his child.

"You just might need to give him some time to come around."

I admire the way he is defending his long time friend and team mate but my patience is minimal today and my hormones are getting the best of me. "He's not the only one that's had to adjust to this," I snap unceremoniously. "This wasn't planned for me either." I sigh, the pressure lifting off of my chest. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to take this out on you."

To my surprise he chuckles lightly. "You're not the first pregnant woman I've encountered. I have four children myself."

My expression softens and I try out a smile for what feels like the first time today. "That sounds wonderful."

Pride is written into every experienced line on his face. "I would be lying if I said it wasn't difficult. But it is by far the most rewarding thing I've done in my life. Hockey means nothing at the end of the day if you don't have a family to come home and share it with. Something that Sid knows all too well. He will be a great father, you know."

I wish I could agree, could throw any weight of opinion into his argument, but the whole truth of the matter is that Sidney Crosby is a stranger to me and I have absolutely no idea of whether or not he will be a good father. My experience with him is limited to one night of drunken passion and a devastating blow of telling him he was going to have a baby.

"Put yourself back in his shoes," Pascal continues. "This must have been a huge shock for you when you found out. You needed time, space, you needed to think everything over. But eventually you came to terms with it. Sidney is just in that beginning faze. He's in shock and he just needs a little time to absorb the enormity of it all."

I think back to when I first found out, crouched in a ball on my bathroom floor, tears pouring currants down my face. The gasping, suffocating feeling of immense fear. My sympathy for Sidney grows. "I don't want to force this on him," I admit reluctantly. "If he doesn't want to be a father then I don't want to make him. I can be a single mother."

Before the sentence has even left my mouth Pascal is shaking his head. "I'm sure you'd be a great one, but you didn't make this baby alone and Sidney has responsibilities he needs to stand up for. Responsibilities that he will stand up for because he's a good man."

"I don't want him to resent me. Or this baby. That's no way for a child to grow up."

"You just need to give him a chance," he insists. "Let him think over everything and then go from there."

I swallow back the situation and try not to let my emotions overrule me.

"If you're okay with it, I'd like to speak with him on your behalf. I know him well and I think I can get him to see clearly," he offers gently.

"I don't want you to have to put yourself in the middle of all this mess," I defer.

"I really don't mind. And to be honest you could use every defender in your corner," he says with a cheeky grin.

I can't help the genuine smile the reaches my face. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he has a way of making light of it without demeaning it and making it feel unimportant.

"Alright," I concede. "You have yourself a charity case."

He laughs joyfully, clearly amused by my attempt at joking.

"There's no game tonight," he continues. "Why don't I head back to the arena and talk to him and then we can arrange a meet up in a bit if that's alright for you?"

"You think he'll agree to that?" I ask, stomach instantly full of butterflies.

He nods assuredly. "I think he will, yes."

While my mind is playing over all possible disastrous scenarios and looking for a way out, my head is already nodding consent

"Good," Pascal says. "Leave me your number and I'll call you in a couple of hours." He passes his phone across the table and I dial my number, pressing call and watching as it is received into my own phone, then slide it back to him.

"Thank you for everything," I say to him as he slides his phone and wallet back into his pocket. "It really means a lot."

He sends me a playful wink. "Any time. I'll talk to you in a few hours."

I smile wistfully and watch as he walks away, dreading the next meeting I'll have with him and Sidney. I slowly pack my stuff back into my bag and leave the café, mind reeling with the events of the day.

I'm not sure what to do with myself so I slowly make my way back to my apartment and sit down on the couch, exhausted after an emotionally draining day. I am just contemplating getting up to make something to eat when a knock sounds from the door. Confusion seizes me. This is not a day and age where people show up unannounced anymore. Knocks on the door are always preceded by a text or a phone call. A small bit of fear creeps in as I cross the threshold and peer through the peephole, my heart sinking into my knees as his face, shadowed by the brim of his Pens hat, reaches my eyes.

I clamp my hand over my mouth in shock, gather my thoughts, then open the door. He stares at me expectantly with a blank expression, my own confusion and fear mirrored in his eyes.

"Hi," he manages quietly, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Hi," I say back, then continue to stare.

"Can I come in?" He asks softly.

I shake my rudeness and shock from my mind and pull the door towards me. "Of course." Like the good Canadian boy he is, he takes off his shoes at the door and waits expectantly for me to say something. When my stubborn mind reminds freshly blank he says, "I think we need to talk."

I nod, steadying my fear and opening my mouth. "I think so."

"Do you want to have this conversation standing in your front hall or should we go sit down?"

I can't tell if he's being cheeky or if he's irritated, but when he quirks a small, almost indiscernible smile at me, I know his comment is light hearted.

"The living room," I offer, leading the way down the short hall to the large and open living space. I drop myself down into the arm chair and gesture to the couch across from me which he takes obligingly. "How did you know where I live?" I ask sceptically.

His face remains stoic with a hint of a smile in the recesses of his eyes. "I've been here once before, remember?"

Heat sears into my cheeks and I bite down on my lip bashfully. Flashbacks of that night of twisted sheets and anxious kisses replays again. "Right," I say, embarrassed. "How could I forget."

He takes this statement in a way I hadn't anticipated and shifts uncomfortably around my words.

"What made you want to stop by?" I am trying to remain casual and indifferent but my emotions are so overruled by my hormones that I can't help but realize the gravity of the situation. If I play this wrong, if I let my temper get out of check, if I say or do the wrong thing, my child could have no father. And the responsibility of that guilt would kill me.

"Pascal."

It's one simple word with the weight of the world behind it.

"I hope he's not the only reason you came," I say shyly.

He shakes his head. "No. But he was the driving force."

I nod, unsure where to take our conversation. I decide to let him set the pace. I can see that he's struggling but he takes a deep breath and plunges into the unknown territory anyways.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted earlier."

I appreciate his apology immensely. "It was to be expected. I'm sorry I had to drop it on you like that. But we didn't exchange numbers or anything and I had no other way of getting ahold of you."

He nods. "I understand. I have a few questions for you though and I hope you don't take offence."

A small fear grips me. I will be completely open and honest with him but I am dreading this amount of intimacy in such a fragile situation.

"I don't really know that this baby is mine," he treads lightly and without looking at me. "And I wish more than anything that I could just take your word and be done with it. But I've been in this situation before and I was lied to."

My fingertips find my lips in shock that anyone would lie about something so enormous. "I'm sorry," I mutter.

"It's in the past," he continues. "If this is my baby I will be in it's life as a father…" he hesitates before continuing. "But I want a DNA test."

I wish I could say that I'm not hurt by his request, which is fair and understandable, but there's a part of me that is anyways. "You can have a DNA test. I promise you that I'm not lying."

His eyes find mine, begging to see the lie within them, but he seems satisfied with my answer. "What exactly is it that you want from me?"

My face is placid as I contemplate his question. "I'm not after your money if that's what you're asking," I defend.

He blinks away my answer.

"When we find out the baby is yours and if you still want nothing to do with it, I'll leave your name off the birth certificate. You can pretend this never happened."

He shakes his head. "I don't want that. I just don't want to find out that I'm being played like a fool."

"I'm not…I wouldn't…" I'm trying not to take his words too personally but I can't seem to control my emotions. I shake the tears from my eyes, desperate not to break down in front of him.

"I wish that was enough for me," he says, anguish across his face as he rubs his palms over it. "If this is my kid, I'll be there. You have my word. But until then, until I know for sure, I can't risk getting attached."

His candour is so surprising that is stops the tears from spilling over my eyes. "So you're saying that you'll have no part until after the baby is born?"

Confusion splits his face. "They do DNA tests all the time while the baby is still in the womb."

"Yeah, and with dangerous risks. It poses serious harm to the baby," I say a bit too quickly.

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Blake, but until I know for sure that the baby is mine, I can't be a part of anything."

"So you're saying no doctors appointments, no nursery shopping, nothing until after I have physical evidence for you?"

He swallows and I can tell he's trying to steel his resolve. That the tough exterior is simply a shell to the weakness he's feeling right now.

"I'm sorry. I wish it were different. If you get the test before the baby is born then I will be a part of all of that. But I need certainty. I can't have these doubts in my mind."

I can see that his words physically hurt him to say. "So my two options are to put the baby at risk to prove to you that I'm not a liar, or to wait and go through this all alone to still prove to you that I'm not a liar."

"I know it's unfair…" He starts.

"It is unfair," I say harshly, fed up with defending myself over and over again. Tired and exhausted by it all. "Of course it's unfair. I'll tell you what, you can leave now and I'll call you in five months when you baby is born."

I stand and glare down on him, ruled by my frayed emotions. With a guilty look and tired eyes, he stands from my couch and walks back to my front door in silence, slips on his shoes, and pulls the door towards him.

"I really am sorry, Blake." Then lets the door shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

My muscles ache as I haul the last of the heavy boxes up the stairs and into the semi vacant room, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the cool October air that drifts in through the open window. I collapse into a tired heap at the base of what will eventually be a crib, my body slumped against the smooth cardboard that houses the unassembled wood frame. I cringe, knowing how sore my already achy body will be in a couple of hours, regretting my decision to move this all on my own when I'm not even supposed to be lifting.

In the month it's been since I kicked Sidney out of my apartment, my body has betrayed the secret I was carefully guarding. My stomach has popped out into a round bump around my navel, a smooth contour surface that houses the kicks and flutters that stir within me. A place my hand over the solid part where I can feel the baby, a mass of bones and thin skin pressed up underneath my bellybutton, and gently run my fingers over the skin, watching in wonder as my motion is mimicked beneath, the baby's limb flush against my skin, just visible. I laugh a little, marvelling in the miracle of it and pushing back to my feet, desperate to finish as much as I can before my exhaustion catches up with me and I have to curl up on the couch.

I begin pulling the cardboard covers from the framework of the crib, laying out all the pieces into a pile on the floor and rooting through the scraps for the illusive instructions. By the time I find them I realize I am no better of with them than I was without. Half of the instructions aren't even in English and the diagrams are so poor that it's hard to tell the stick people from the crib pieces. I sit back on the floor and sigh, feeling immensely out of my element and overwhelmed.

As I woman I pride myself on my independence, on my strict and unwavering ability to rely on myself and myself only. But I also am strong enough to realize when I am in over my head and when to ask for help. I contemplate who to call, wanting so badly for Sidney to be here and a part of this, but so afraid of his rejection again. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt and hoping beyond all belief that perhaps he changed his mind, I pick up my phone and hover my finger over his contact, silently thanking Pascal for sending me his number for instances just like this.

I take a breath and press my finger down, holding my phone against my ear before I can think too much about it and change my mind. It rings twice before his familiar voice answers.

"Hello?"

I try not to stutter from the fear that is suddenly gripping me, swallow and push the words from my mouth. "Sidney, hi."

"Hey Blake." He doesn't sound irritated by the fact that I'm calling him which I take as a promising sign. "Everything okay?"

I start to nod before I remember that he can't see me. "Oh um, yeah, everything's fine. I just…I have something to ask you."

His silence unnerves me as he ponders over my statement. "Sure, what's up?"

I hesitate over how to phrase it. "I'm um…I'm just putting together the crib but I'm really struggling. I'm sorry to ask and I wouldn't if I had anyone else to go to, but I was wondering if there was any way you could give me a hand?"

I can hear the static through the phone as his mind turns over the repercussions of what I'm asking, though in reality all I really want for the moment is help setting up.

"Blake," his voice holds a warning tone of our previous conversations. "I can't…I can't be apart of anything, I told you this already." Though his words are almost convincing, his tone is not. I can hear the indecision in every syllable he speaks.

"Sidney I'm not asking you to be a father right now. I promised you that this baby is yours. If that's not enough, so be it. I can prove it eventually. But I'm a high risk pregnancy to begin with and I'm not supposed to be doing any of this. I did most of it anyways, I just really need some help." I feel myself begin to chatter uncontrollably, a nervous habit I've never been able to shake. "My family, they're all back in my hometown. I haven't lived here long enough to make any real friends and, to be honest, even though you don't believe me right now, you're all that I have."

I swallow my speech, hoping that I didn't sound as desperate to his ears as I did to my own.

"Please say something," I beg on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry," He begins. "I wish I could explain it in a way that would hurt you less but I can't. I just can't have any part because if the baby isn't mine, and I know that you swear that it is but if it turned out that it wasn't, there's no way that I could handle being so close to having a family and then have it taken away."

I so badly want to be mad at him but all I feel is pity. Pity that he has to be so cautious over this whole scenario rather than getting to enjoy everything. "I'll get you your DNA test," I whisper, I don't know if it's to myself or to him.

"What?" I hear him mumble in my ear.

"I know that you want to be a part of this but I also understand why you need to know with certainty. So I'll get you your DNA test. Before the baby is born."

"But I thought you said…"

"I know what I said. But I'm scared and I'm alone. And if getting you this DNA test means that I have someone to go through this with then I'll do it. I know how selfish that sounds but…"

"No, no," he says hurriedly. "I understand why you want me there. And you should know that I want to be there for all the same reasons."

"Well then it's settled," I say with finality. "Can you meet tomorrow?"

I think he's surprised by the speed at which these events have been set into motion because he stumbles for a second before saying, "Yeah, tomorrow's good."

"I'll text you the address of the clinic." I can't help the tone of slight defeat that creeps into my words.

"Okay, sure. And Blake?"

"Mhmm?"

"Thank you."

I sigh. "See you tomorrow, Sidney."

I sleep restlessly that night, torn by nightmares of deformed babies and Sidney, dressed in a suit and calling me a whore. I wake up sweating, realizing with a start that it's fifteen minutes later than I was supposed to get up and I'm going to be cutting our appointment close. I shower and dress quickly and by the time I make it to the clinic, he's already waiting for me.

His hat is pulled low over his eyes, presumably so the other patients don't recognize him, and he looks good with his shirt a bit too small, clinging to the contours of his broad muscles, arms folded uncomfortably across his chest. By the time I hurry into the building and start walking towards him, the receptionist calls my name and he glances up to me, pushes himself from the chair and walks to my side, following the receptionist obediently down the stark white halls.

We're just barely seated in the room and haven't said two words to each other when the doctor enters, a middle aged woman with a soft demeanour and greying hair.

"Miss Easton, correct?"

I nod, nerves creeping in.

"And we're here for a Prenatal DNA test?"

I nod again.

"We talked about all the risks with you Miss Easton on the phone last night when you called to make the appointment. Are you sure you want to continue today?"

_ Miscarriage. Amniotic fluid leak. Needle injury. RH sensitization. Infection. _I had listened to them talk and talk about all of the risks involved and while it terrified me, I needed this to be over and I needed it to be over now.

"The baby will be okay though, won't it?" Sidney asks from his chair in the corner.

"There's risks posed with any procedure. Amniocentesis certainly carries risks with it, we're drawing fluid out from the baby's amniotic sac."

She waits and when neither of us says a word she speaks again. "Do we want to continue with this procedure today?"

"Yes," I say quickly, seeing Sidney's resolve softening with every second. "Yes we do."

"Alright," she replies. "Lay back, shirt up."

I do as instructed and am surprised when Sidney rises to stand next to me, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"This will probably hurt," she warns, cleaning my skin with iodine then positioning the needle just above my bellybutton. With the ultrasound turned on to make sure she didn't poke the baby, she gently guides the needle into my skin, puncturing through and into the sac.

I can't help the gasp of pain that escapes my lips, a deep, burning sensation spreading throughout my abdomen. To my stark surprise, Sidney reaches out and clasps one of my hands in both of his, squeezing tightly to distract me from the pain. She withdraws the needle slowly, filling a vile with an almost clear liquid and capping it, placing a bandaid over the injection site.

"All done," she says with an apologetic wink. "You next."

She pulls a long cotton swab from a plastic tube, gestures for him to open his mouth and takes a sample, popping the swab back into the container and turning to us both.

"You're all finished. I should have your results for you in a couple of days."

"Thank you," Sidney mumbles for both of us as she smiles and leaves the room. I am in too much pain to speak so he gently helps me from the table, the paper crinkling beneath me, and sets me upright again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks quietly, leading me out of the room and down the hall, his hand gently resting on the small of my back.

"I told you there were risks," I defend.

"But you didn't tell me how serious they were." I can tell that he's frustrated.

"Does it matter?" I counter. "It's over now. In a couple of days you'll have your answer."

"Are you alright?" He asks as I stumble a little.

"Little dizzy," I concede as the ground beneath me spins a little. I close my eyes to steady myself but instead feel a lurching sensation.

"Hey, hey, hey," he cries and I instantly feel his hands on my body, pulling me into the solid rock of his chest. "Maybe I should take you back inside to see the doctor."

"I'm fine," I mumble into his shirt, clinging onto the fabric like a lifeline, his strong arms wrapped securely around me, the only thing holding me up. I breathe in the scent of him, gentle cologne with a faint tinge of hockey underneath. A distinctly manly scent that floods my mind with memories.

"I don't want you driving right now," he admits. "I have to stop by the arena to pick a few things up. Why don't you come with me and then maybe by the time I'm done you'll feel a little better."

I want to tell him to shove off and that I'm fine, if not faintly aggravated, but I'm too dizzy and tired to argue so instead I just nod against his chest and feel his hands guide me to the passenger seat of his car. I must fall asleep because the next time I open my eyes we're pulling into the underground park of the Consol Energy Centre. It's dark and quiet and hums with the lights overhead, easing my fuzzy head.

He walks around the car and opens my door for me, hanging onto my elbow as I extract myself from his car and steady myself. I let his hand hover protectively over me even though I'm feeling remarkably better now. We walk in silence to the Penguins locker room, somewhere I've never been before, and quickly find Dupuis in his workout gear toweling off the sweat from his face.

"Here to drop another bombshell?" He asks with a sarcastic quirk as Sidney leads me to his side.

"I'll be right back. Got to talk to Coach for a second," Sidney says to me as he leaves me with Pascal.

"Things going alright?" Dupuis asks with a more serious tone.

"Too early to tell," I say cryptically, another wave of dizziness washing over me.

"Are you alright?" His voice immediately sounds concerned and my eyebrow kinks in response.

"Why?" I ask.

"You're incredibly pale all the sudden and you're swaying."

His hands are on both of my arms, holding me upright as the room spins in sickening circles again.

"Blake!"

It takes me a moment to realize why he's calling out to me, but the confusion is lifted when I open my eyes and realize that I am looking at the ceiling and somehow I have ended up on the floor, Dupuis' concerned face peering over me.

"Get the doctor and get Crosby!"

I hear him shout to someone else in the room. I can see his face hovering above me, blurry and out of focus, his words drifting far off and distant sounding. I close my eyes and allow the sensation of heavy limbs to pull me further into the floor.

"What happened?" A new voice, startling familiar and filled with a sense of terror.

"I don't know, she just collapsed."

I am under water, my arms and legs floating on the rocking waves, my head cradled by the cool liquid.

"Blake!"

My name startles my eyes open and his face meets mine. I can see the fear radiating off of him but the ocean is calling me, beckoning me back to its cool depths, drawing me under into the sea of quiet calm. So I give in and sink, close my eyes and let the ocean engulf me.


	4. Chapter 4

My head is humming. I feel the buzz of noises like a an avalanche within my skull, resounding off the walls of my brain and creating a pressure like none I've ever felt before. My body is heavy, resting on something soft and relatively comfortable, but the sensation does nothing to calm the chaos of pain echoing within my brain. I try to move an arm, a leg, a finger, any limb on my body, but they remain stubbornly stationary and I quickly give up, my energy depleted within seconds. I contemplate trying to open my eyes when a voice catches me off guard.

"No, nothing new yet."

He sounds tired, the weight of a thousand burdens resting upon him.

"I'm sure she'll be alright," a different voice replies.

Silence fills the room, speaking volumes about the doubt in both of my visitors minds. Though I can't seem to move my body, a tingling sensation is spreading like wildfire through the tips of my fingers and across the palm of my hand. It's warm, soft like a breath, yet undeniably sturdy and when it twitches suddenly, I become aware of the fact that someone is holding my hand in their own, softly caressing their thumb over my own cool skin.

The room grows quiet. I try to focus my hazy mind on the sounds surrounding me: a steady beep from somewhere on my left; faint, ragged breathing on my right. The ocean is calling me back to its depths. I want to succumb to the cool, inviting waves of silence but I'm held firm in reality by the voices again.

"I've never…I can't…"

He struggles to say the words aloud but I am desperate to hear them.

"This is my fault," he settles on, quietly and full of guilt.

"This could have happened to anyone, this is not your fault," the stranger reassures.

"I made her get the test. I pressured her into it. I should have just believed her when she told me the baby was mine but I didn't. And now…"

His sentence hangs like rope from the gallows and I feel my heartbeat quicken beneath my skin.

"I'll never forgive myself if…" His anguish fills the rest of his sentence he dared not to speak.

"The doctors are taking good care of her. I'm sure everything will be okay. Listen I need to head out or I'll be late for practice. Coach knows what's going on, he said to take the time you need."

The weight from my hand disappears.

"Thanks," Sidney says.

The weight is back.

"See you soon."

Sensation is slowly returning to me. I can feel the familiar ache of my muscles, stiff with immobility, the gentle groan of my spine, pressed parallel to a foreign surface, the faint pressure as something stirs deep within my abdomen. I blink and to my stark surprise, find my eyes open and staring into the blinding lights above me, quickly close them and turn my head to the side to shake off the stars pressed against them.

"Blake?"

His voice sounds started and full of hope. I slowly open my eyes so I won't be overwhelmed and blink him into focus. He looks rough. There is stubble growing over his full lips and across his chin, his eyes have dark circles beneath them and his hat is low over his eyes, casting a dark shadow across his already dark face.

"Blake." My name sounds breathy and full of relief when he says it.

I am faintly aware of his hand against my cheek, his thumb stroking soft lines against my cheekbone, his eyes locked on mine.

"What happened?" I manage, and even to my own ears my voice sounds weak and fragile.

He swallows, his hand and eyes leaving me at once, folding neatly into his lap.

"There was a complication," he says softly and I can hear the catch in his voice. "With the test."

Terror is seizing me. Though I can feel the baby moving deftly inside of me, I am horrified by the possibility that I have compromised my morals and my baby's safety to prove something to a man. "Please Sidney," I beg, tears in my eyes. "Please just tell me."

I can see the tears in his own eyes and my heart misses a beat.

"Maybe the doctor…" he looks swiftly behind him for a way out. "Maybe he can explain it better."

"I want to hear it from you."

He takes off his Pens hat and runs his fingers through his hair, placing his cap back on and pulling it low over his eyes so I can barely see his face when he hangs his head.

"It's called RH sensitization. RH is a protein in the red blood cells. Your blood is RH negative but the baby…" he hesitates. "The baby is RH positive."

From the depths of my mind stirs something from a biology class in another lifetime and dread fills me.

"When we had the DNA test done, some of the baby's blood and some of your blood mixed. Since you're RH negative, your body didn't recognise the baby's RH positive proteins."

I finish the rest for him because he is clearly struggling. "So my body is making antibodies against the baby because it think it's harming me."

He rubs his hands over his face. "Yes. Basically your body is attacking the baby because it thinks it's trying to kill you."

I want to cry. I want to burst into tears until this problem goes away and my baby is safe. But I am numb, astounded by the fact that my body, which has housed and harboured this child since its conception, is now trying to destroy the life it created. I can't look at him, can't stare into his face and admit the fault we are both in for this. I am so ashamed of myself. So ashamed that I put aside my baby's safety to prove something that I already knew; that I couldn't be strong and patient and selfless. That I put my baby's life at such risk over a crib.

"Blake."

I feel his hand reach out and touch me but I recoil.

"What now?" I whisper, my eyes on the ceiling tiles. "What happens to the baby?"

I can hear him swallow as he struggles to find the words to tell me. "If any of the antibodies that your body is making cross the placenta, they will start to destroy the baby's red blood cells. If the antibodies destroy the red blood cells, the baby…" I can hear the tears he is choking back. "The baby won't get enough oxygen. If the baby doesn't get enough oxygen, then she could die."

I inhale deeply, noticing with a pang as I turn to the side that his eyes are glassy and his hands shaking. I am numb but I cling to one word that left his mouth, perhaps the one word that had such little relevance in everything he said, but the one that gives me more hope than all the others.

"She?"

He starts and sits upright, wiping a hand over his tired face and blinking rapidly at me. "You didn't… I'm sorry, I thought…"

"It's a girl?" I ask, heart fluttering rapidly as I wait for him to answer.

"You didn't know?"

I shake my head.

"I'm sorry, the doctor let it slip while you were unconscious. I thought you knew." He looks immensely guilty but I don't care. I place my hand over the rolling sensation in my belly and smile.

"It's okay," I say with a small laugh. "It's okay. It's a girl."

"Blake did you hear what I said about the diagnosis?"

I ignore him. My mind is scarred, numb with denial and heavy with guilt. I am terrified for what is going to happen during the rest of my pregnancy but for the moment, all I can feel is pure elation at the prospect of having a daughter. I turn to look into his face, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips.

"They dropped this off while you we're out too," he says shyly, holding up a plain manila envelope. We both know what it is.

"Did you open it?"

He looks down as though toying with some great debate. "I don't think I need to, Blake. This whole thing," he gestures wildly around the hospital room, "It's made me realize that it doesn't matter. I want her to be mine. She can be mine no matter what."

I sigh, exasperated. "She is yours no matter what, Sidney. Just open the envelope so you will never have a doubt in your mind again."

We stare placidly at each other for a few moments before his eyes dart down the envelope and he slips a finger inside, pulling up the paper and gently sliding the contents out into his palm. Without looking up his eyes quickly scan over the results and a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"She's mine," he says with a relieved laugh. "She's my daughter. I'm so sorry Blake, so sorry. I just needed to be sure. But she's mine."

I smile back at him, happy that he seems to be so excited by the prospect.

"She's ours," I say with a smile.

My fear is that I have no idea how long she will even be ours for.


End file.
